


Better Than Ambien

by FindingZ



Series: Touch Me/Heal Me [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Domestic Fluff, EXTREMELY Gentle Sex, Emotion Porn, Fluff, Gentle Doms, Gentle Sex, I almost tagged this as Netflix & Chill but I'm better than that guys I really am, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn with Feelings, Vriska is still a douchecanoe, naps, or rather Emotions With Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingZ/pseuds/FindingZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always gets this bizarre melty look on his face when you do or say certain things, like you've swiped his legs out from under him. You can't find a pattern to it, can't really think of anything except he's happy, he's happy that you're happy (that he can make you happy? Is that it?), and seeing him happy feels like rocks are being removed from your lungs by the shovelful. </p>
<p>(in which Eridan decides that it's time Dave's needs get met first, for once)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Ambien

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically all emotion porn with a bit of canoodling at the end that is actually more emotion porn. Enjoy

You give Dave fifty feet of the best silk rope you can afford for Christmas. You don't celebrate the human holiday, don't have any intention of doing so (and don't feel bad about it, since Dave bluntly told you that he wasn't going to even bother to keep up with the "fucking ridiculous" amount of holidays your culture had to offer. "Can you imagine how many bank holidays there would be if the New World had come with a mushed-together calendar for trolls and humans? There'd be hordes of people protesting and chaining themselves to the White House so they could use the ATM at least once a year!", but it at least gives you an offhand excuse for why you are shoving a plain cardboard box into his arms on a dreary winter morning.

He's grinning that little flat-toothed smile that he does when he's surprised. "You didn't have to do that. I didn't even get you - "

You swat at his shoulder. The arm of the chair he's in is digging into your butt and you want to be able to move as soon as possible. "Not important, just hurry up and open it."

His eyebrows start high and only climb higher when he peeks inside. It takes him a minute. Then -

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why now?"

"Just a feeling."

"A feeling." He's not disbelieving, he's just curious, and you know that, but his tone of voice is still flat. Like he's mulling it over. He pulls you down off  the arm of the chair into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist and plants his chin on your shoulder. "Tell me about it?"

"S'not a lot to say." You shrug very deliberately, just to watch his head bob. "I just...feel ready."

"It shouldn't be something you have to psych yourself up for, y'know." One of his hands slips down to rub at the muscles in your lower back, the ones that always cramp up and spasm every few days since the Game ended, remnants of your old injury. "I'm not so sure it's a good idea if the only reason you're giving it the green light is because you think you're ready to handle it."

"No! Ugh." You twist so you can thunk your head into his breastbone. "It's hard to explain."

"You can take your time." He noses a few strands of your hair. "Want some tea?"

"It's not going to take _that_ long, gods, just, just gimme a minute."

"Okay."

You try to think of a suitable way to express what possessed you to buy the rope. You can tell already that it's going to come out in fits and spurts, but he's got his "I'm Listening" face on and you know you could start multiplying numbers out loud and he'd drink it all in as though it held the meaning of life.

"It wasn't an impulse buy or nothin'. I'd been...thinking about it for awhile."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How long is awhile?"

"...Awhile."

"Gotcha. Continue."

You scramble for the correct vocabulary. "It's like, it's like - you know when I have nightmares? And what do you when I have them?"

His grip on you tightens enough to startle you. "Yeah?"

"It's like that. I want you to do that while we're pail - while we're having sex. And I think, um, that this would make that easier."

He tugs at your hair to make you look him straight in the face. "You do?"

You think about how he'll climb on top of you while you're shaking and twitching from the shadows still dancing in your brain, how he'll just lie there with his face in your neck, pressing you down, down, down into the mattress, keeping you from having to worry about protecting yourself because he's got you, he's got you, you can't move and he's got you -

"Yeah."

He always gets this bizarre melty look on his face when you do or say certain things, like you've swiped his legs out from under him. You can't find a pattern to it, can't really think of anything except he's _happy,_ he's happy that you're happy (that he can make you happy? Is that it?), and seeing him happy feels like rocks are being removed from your lungs by the shovelful. He's wearing that expression now. You can't look at it for too long or you'll feel like you're bubbling over, so you sigh and focus on your hand spidering its way up his stomach instead.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Mm-hm. When did you want to give it a try?"

"Tonight?"

He's surprised, but you can feel the way his thighs tense under you - he's pleased, even if he doesn't want you to see it (he always hides how eager he is to try new things. He's told you it's because he's afraid you'll suggest and agree to things that you normally wouldn't want to do, just to please him. You couldn't give him a definite 'that'll never happen' without it being a lie, so he hasn't changed his behavior. You know when he's trying to mask himself, though). "Really?"

You nod assent into his chest. "Please?"

He kisses the fragile skin behind your ear, where your gills are closed tight (he loves taking baths with you, loves it when you dip your head underwater to get the soap out of your hair because he can watch your gills open up). "Of course. Of course, of course."

"Okay." You tap your forefingers against his collarbone, feel it reverberate through him. "Can I have some tea?"

"Sure thing." He stands up, takes you with him (bridal style, you learned the name for it. You blushed like a crazy thing when you found out the implications, found out the flushed declaration behind it), and heads into the kitchen. "Caffeinated or no?"

"Nah."

"Mint?"

"Mm-hmm."

He pours you into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and bustles about with the electric kettle. He's still in his sleep clothes, which are getting pretty old - they're a bit too small for him, and you watch the way the muscles of his back shift under the fabric as he leans over the counter to fill up the kettle with one hand while rummaging in the tea drawer with the other. You must make some sort of (embarrassing) noise, because he turns around abruptly and gives you a knowing look. You jam your hands into your lap and examine the stain on the wallpaper from when you tripped over the trash can that time he had made you spaghetti.

"Wanna get takeout for dinner?"

"It's not even noon," you say. He shrugs, turns on the kettle with a sharp click, and grabs two mugs from the dish drain.

"So? That Indian place will be open until late, I bet. We could get some of that delivered and watch a movie, maybe?"

You feel very warm. You're smiling, you realize. "Can I get extra curry?"

"No duh." He sits down next to you with the steaming mugs. He's looped the strings of the teabags around the handle and tied a neat little half-knot, like he always does. You toy with the bit of paper on the end and watch it pull tight. "You okay?"

"Huh?"

"I don't know what your expression means. What are you thinking right now?"

You take a sip of your tea. It's not done steeping and burns your mouth, but you need the time to figure out the answer yourself. You set your mug down very carefully so it doesn't make a sound. "I'm thinking that you're too nice to me, actually." He opens his mouth immediately, sits up in his seat straight as a rod, like he's prepping a Speech, but you hold up your hand. "Just, thank you."

He relaxes like a waterfall and leans over to kiss your forehead, twining a hand into the bend of the horn nearest him. "I hope this works for you. When you have nightmares, it's like - it does so _much_ for you, just that one little thing, and it's so easy, _so_ easy, it feels like cheating, almost. So if this is a thing you like, a thing that you might need, then, uh," and he stutters, he _stutters_ , he never stutters except when he's already ears-over-feet invested in something, that is _too adorable_ , "then I'd be more than happy to give it to you."

His ears are red. He knows he lost a few eloquence points during that little speech, so you let your next kiss linger on his lips, just a little, just for a few heartbeats, to know that he gained as many points in other departments to make up for it.

He pulls away when you go to slide a hand up under the hem of his t shirt. "Hey, it's not tonight yet. Calm your jets."

"Aw."

"Drink your tea and we can go return those books to the library afterwards."

"You haven't finished the books you checked out!"

"I won't tell if you won't, now, c'mon. Drink up."

You drink up and c'mon. He takes much greater care bundling _you_ up for the outing than he does himself. You protest, shoving at his head a little as he winds your scarf around and around and around your neck (and your face too, his aim is off), but he just grins and zips your coat up with enough force to tug you towards him just a little.

All the public transportation is closed down for the day, so you walk. It's a mile or so, but you don't mind - you take turns chattering (although your fangs chatter more than your mouth does; you aren't built for this damn biome whatsoever, and yet here you are), and the tea sits warm and pleasant in your gut and although holding his hand with mittens on isn't as nice as it usually is, the small point of contact is enough to keep that entire half of your body warm and liquid.

When he leans over the book drop-off bin you make a move like you're going to try to shove his head into the slot along with the two English nonfiction books and the Alternian novel Karkat recommended to you last time you saw him. He doesn't stop trying to tickle you on the entire walk back, but you manage to push him into a snowbank right outside your apartment in revenge. You take off running up the front steps to the building when you catch the murderous glee in his eyes, and beat him to the bathroom. You lock the door behind you as you hear him clomping up the hallway in his heavy boots, and turn the shower on. Wet, icy clothing gets dumped in the corner by the door as you step under the steam, and you just stand there for a few moments, soothing the shivers from your muscles.

He's waiting when you emerge, but doesn't do anything more than give you two hard, fast kisses before heading inside. He doesn't close the bathroom _or_ the shower stall door, though, and if you subtly position yourself on the couch in the living room so you can watch him stand with an uplifted face under the water, then, well, you don't think he minds at all.

You don't do anything for the rest of the afternoon. He has some emails he has to get to and you're going to message Karkat and try and find a way to tell him that you loved the book he recommended without being too obvious about it. Just so his head doesn't get too big, you know? He already thinks of himself as the Empress Supreme in terms of quadrants - and he is, there's no doubt about it, but sometimes he needs a healthy dose of humble grubpastry just like the next individual. You'll sit down and get another list off of him later. Plenty of time for that.

You finish your work before he does, and you take advantage of that time to strip all of the extra blankets off of your communal bed upstairs and pile them onto the couch in front of the TV. You get yourself nested and situated, and play with the remote. There isn't a thing to watch that isn't utterly mind-numbing, but you don't really mind - Dave will be here soon, because you make sure to turn up the volume just a _little_ bit louder than you usually have it, just so he'll be able to hear it in the other room. He'll be here soon.

He brings you tea when he arrives. Balances it on the arm of the couch and tucks himself into your side, insinuating a hand up under your shirt and framing your gills between his fingers. He rests his head on your shoulder. "Hi."

"Hi yourself."

"What are we watching?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh yeah?" He tilts his face up to you. "Is that so?"  

"Mm-hmm."

His face is completely neutral but there's no way the casual way he 'accidentally' pinches one of your grubscars between forefinger and thumb is anything but purposeful. When you twitch he follows the movement, nestling closer to you and pulling a blanket over the both of you. He's got both hands up under your shirt, pinching and rubbing at your torso until you feel like you're melting into the upholstery. You sigh. When the next commercial break comes on, he pokes you in the ribs.

"Can I kiss you?"

You think it's funny that he asks. When you first noticed that he made a habit of it, you had laughed and told him he was silly - told him that he didn't ever have to ask permission, that you'd always want to drop everything to lock lips with him, no matter where you were.

He'd gotten upset when you'd told him that, though, his whole face clouding over. "Well, yeah," he'd said, "but what happens on the _one_ day when you decide you don't want to and I do it anyway because I didn't know? You wouldn't stop me once I initiated it, am I right?"

You had had to admit that he was. He had spread his hands out wide. "That's why I ask."

"Yes," you say now, and tap your forehead to his. "You may."

You are only half surprised when he goes for your nose. You still bat at his head anyway, laugh a little because he's such a tease, and curl your fingers in his hair to tilt your head to where you want him. He goes without protest, and seals his lips over yours.

It's so easy to forget everything else but this. What is it, precisely, that manages to wipe your mind pure and clean, inhabited by nothing but the way his breath ghosts over your face? His smell, maybe (he still smells as human as ever, like the plants he keeps on the windowsill in the kitchen, but since you've started living together he smells like you, too - like your conditioner and detergent. Sometimes, too, if you dip your head to nuzzle at certain spots over his neck, shoulders, and hands, you can catch a whiff of your own skin embedded in the pores there), or else the way his body temperature soaks into you like a hot sopor bath on the coldest of days. It's so easy to succumb to the dumb, drowsy state that you're unfortunately prone to falling in when he kisses you like this. You struggle to keep your wits about you, for his sake. You don't want to just lay there like a slug, for fear of boring him.

He doesn't seem bored, though, even though you're having trouble doing much but exerting the teeniest amount of pressure back against his mouth. The more boneless and mushy you get, the more ground he takes from you. His kisses get more insistent, his thumbs swipe firmer and firmer lines over your protruding ribs, and each pathetic little noise you fail to stifle makes him press you farther and farther into the nest of cushions and blankets around you.

When he pulls back, you try to follow him, eyes still half-lidded. When he avoids your mouth you can't help but whine a little. You hear him give a teeny little laugh, and you open your eyes all the way.

His hands cup your cheeks. "Are you sure you want to try this tonight? We don't have to move from here if you don't want to. We can just stay like this if you like - it's cozy."

You tip your head back to rest on the cushions but don't take your gaze off of him. "Now is good."

He leans forward (slowly, so you don't flinch - when you met him he tended to buzz from one place to the next, so fast that sometimes you swore he was just a blur, but when he bent down to kiss you one morning he had come in too fast, much too fast. For a split second his hair had darkened, lengthened, and his eyes behind his shades had shifted to a cruel shade of blue - you had flung your hands up over your face and cowered. After that, Dave has gone about his life at a much slower pace). You close your eyes again in anticipation of a kiss, but he just rubs your noses together. Startled, you giggle. He smiles.

"Okay. Do you want to move to the bedroom?"

"Can we stay here? It's comfy."

"'Course. Scoot up a bit."

He rearranges the nest so the majority of it is at your back, supporting you as you recline back. The couch isn't wide enough for the both of you, so you end up with one leg braced on the floor to make room for Dave to sit. He pets a hand over your stomach for a second, just a second, like he's thinking, and then he fumbles around on the coffee table and retrieves the rope without looking.

"Any preferences?"

When you shake your head he looks thoughtful. "Put your hands on your thighs." When you do, he flashes a brilliant smile your way. "This is purely experimental, as a disclaimer. If it's uncomfortable or weird or you don't like it, just lemme know and I'll knock it off."

"Okay."

"Do you want your clothes off or on for this? What I'm thinking will work either way, but it's up to you."

You want to feel his skin against yours. "Off, please. All of it."

"You got it."

He folds your clothes neatly on the coffee table as they come off of you, even though you bat at him to hurry him along. You shiver once you're fully undressed, and he rubs his hands all over your to chase the gooshflesh away.

"Ready? Last chance for a bathroom break." Which is a silly thing for him to say, because you know you could call it off ten seconds after he finishes binding you and he'd have you out of your restraints in less than a heartbeat.

"Mm-hmm." You take a deep breath and revel in the way his eyes drink in the expansion of your ribs, the way your gills flare out when your flesh tightens.

He presses a kiss into the soft of your belly and gets to work.

He starts by wrapping one end of the rope around one of your wrists, binding it to your upper thigh. Once he's satisfied that it's fastened and isn't cutting off your circulation, he brings it up to wrap around your waist and then back down to the other thigh, repeating the procedure. It looks like a bizarre sort of garter belt. You flex your wrists, delight in the rapid clench-release of your nook when you can barely rotate them. Dave sits back.

"Well I'm not winning any prizes for aesthetic, that's for sure." He rubs his thumb at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll have to research this one a little more. Is it too tight? I don't know if this is technically something I should be doing."

"It's fine." Very functional.

"Could be better." He pushes a few locks of hair from his face. "Next time it'll be better. Promise."

"It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"It _does._ " His face is so, so serious. "You get the best. Always."

Your heart goes mushy on the inside. He's so sweet. What the hell did you do in a past life to get him sitting next to you, looking like he does? "Okay."

He snickers, like he can't help it. "What is it with you and _okay_ , jesus." He taps your nose with his forefinger. "Are you comfy?"

"Uh-huh."

"How far do you want to go?" He tugs at your shoulders and pushes at your hips until you're lounging decadently against the pillows and blankets. "We can stop here if you like. I can do more research and make it better for next time."

"...I don't know, actually." You don't. You feel nice, all bundled and cozy and safe and _warm,_ so warm for him, and you think you would take anything he decided to give you and thank him for it. But you can't summon the brainpower to make the decision yourself.

"Okay." He squeezes your hips briefly. "Okay. I'll continue, and I'll do it slow - just tell me if you've had enough all of a sudden yeah?"

"Okay."

"Just tell me to stop and I will."

"I know." You smile. The two of you don't have a safeword. He sat you down early in your relationship and wanted to negotiate such things, but you'd told him that there would never be a situation where you told him to stop and didn't mean it with every fiber of your being (what you _didn't_ tell him was that Vriska had set up a safeword for you. She had told you to use the stoplight system, which was fine, it worked out fine for the first few months you were together, but once...a few times you had gasped out _yellow, yellow, red,_ red, _please_ and every time she would get this pinched, angry look on her face like she couldn't believe you were interrupting the scene and so eventually...eventually you just kept quiet). If you wanted him to slow down, you would tell him, and the two of you would work it out right then.

You love him so.

"Take your clothes off, please." You tell him.

He cocks an eyebrow even as his hands flutter down to the hem of his shirt. "Bossy today, are we?"

"Mmm. Your pants too. And your underwear."

"I'm getting there, jeez Louise. I only shed my boxers at the same speed as the next man." He pinches your hip and you do your best to stifle a shriek (you're so ticklish there, he _knows_ that, the utter cad), lunging up into a sitting position fully intending to headbutt him in revenge. He's expecting that, though, and halts your advance with his lips.

"It was a trap! A cunning trap!" You think he crows into your mouth. You chew on his lip in retaliation, feel his laughter tickling your tongue.

He's so sweet. You hope he feels as good as you do. You want him to feel as warm and safe and cared for as you do, which is the motivation that drives you to pull back and catch his eyes. You don't say anything, just do your best to keep your gaze level, and he blinks.

"What's up?"

"C'n I suck you off?"

The flicker of _something_ gives him away. "If you wanna, sure."

(You know him too well to buy his casual tone - he's still so careful not to try and push you into anything, he'll feign nonchalance even if you were offering to spend the whole day with him in your mouth. He's _very_ interested, you can tell just by looking at the tightness around his mouth, but he's trying so hard not to make you feel pressured and oh, gods, what did you do in a past life to have him fall into your lap?)

You want to make him feel so nice. "Kneel over me, please."

"Like this?" He straddles your hips and leans down to you. You jerk your head back a few times.

"Uh-uh. I can't get at you from here, stupid."

"Okay, okay, I was just tryna be mature about it. Don't wanna go shoving my dick in your face like an uncouth individual, jeez."

"Yeah yeah, just get up here."

"Yes, your majesty." He scooches up, pinning his bulge to his stomach as he goes so you can't get at it yet. You give him your best exasperated eye-roll.

"You are _so_ stubborn about this, holy grubspheres, will you just - "

"Man, never thought you'd be begging for the D, Eri. Oh glorious day."

"Just! Let me make you feel nice? Please? 'N don't be a bitch about it for once."

" _'Scuse_ me for trying to be polite," he says, but you can see the light behind his eyes, see the way the nails of his free hand dig into the couch and tear at the fabric. "Jus' trying to be a gentleman, is all."

"Mm-hmm. Get a move on."

"Fine, fine, calm your tits, here." And then he just -

rams his dick into your face. The head of it bumps your nose. He giggles, and tries to pretend he absolutely didn't just do that on purpose.

"Ooooops, my bad. Apparently I have bad depth percepti- _ah!_ "

Yeah he better ah. Considering you didn't cram his bulge up his own butt as revenge for booping you on the nose with his genitals, he _better_ ah.

You pull off him. "Like that?"

His throat works. His eyelashes are fluttering. "Yeah, yeah, exactly like that."

"Mm-hmm." You make a show of flashing your teeth when you swipe at the head of him with your tongue. "Thought so."

"Asshole."

"Oh yeah?" There's a spot on the underside, underneath the head that makes his whole body spasm if you drag the dull edge of a tooth along it. The muscles of his thighs get tighter and tighter before your eyes. "Trying to tell me something?"

You see the ghost of a (slightly strained) smile. "Maybe someday, darlin'. Not gon-gonna lie, I've been wondering what it'd feel like to get your tentacle up my ass."

Ugh. You pull off completely. "Could you have found a _less_ romantic way to put that?"

"Prolly."

"I'm being serious here." You tilt your head a little and exhale warm and wet over his shameglobes, relishing in the shiver that races up his spine.

"So am I. I can't even ima - _ahh_ \- imagine what it'd feel like to get you tucked up against my prostate, jesus _christ_."

You are unimpressed. "Your dirty talk is awful."

"Will you just-just get _on_ with it already?"

You can't help but smile. Fucking got him in the bag. He thinks he can goad you into shutting him up? Not fucking likely.

You let saliva pool in your mouth, take him in just an inch or so, suckle softly. Listen to the hiss of air past his teeth. Pull off again. "You deserve this."

He makes a tiny noise, a tiny, tiny, insignificant noise. It seems to reverberate around inside your head as loud as a bomb. "You're awful."

"Shh. Gods, just lemme - " You seal your lips just _barely_ over the tip of him and suck as lightly as you can. You hear him lick his lips above you. "Such an asshole," you murmur. He twitches against your lips. You flick your eyes up to look at him - _really?_ you think, _really, you get off on that?_

(you pity him so much)

"Eri, Eri, will you just - "

"Mm?" (he sounds so frustrated, so lovely, it's so rare that you get to do this for him, he's always so preoccupied with tending to _you,_ to _your_ issues, making sure that _you_ feel nice - he doesn't get to enjoy his own skin often enough)

"Stop _teasing,_ you insufferable - you, you - "

_Oh,_ so, lovely, you love it so when he makes noise, his voice is so pretty when he dares to raise it beyond the gentle tones he's so careful to use around you.

You stop teasing. When you tighten your mouth around him, his hands fist in your hair (gentle, gentle, still so gentle, even when he's on the verge of losing control). His hips buck forward half an inch then shudder to a halt, pulling back. He mutters a breathy apology, _sorrysorry, didn't mean to,_ and that does it.

You're fairly good at tipping him over the edge when he doesn't expect it. A push of your tongue, a pull of your mouth, a swallow that pulses around him, and he's done. He always tries to hide how high-pitched his voice gets, but you've found that if you squeeze him as hard as you can with your lips while he's shivering he can't help but whimper and gasp into your hair, curled over your body like you're something he's trying to protect.

It takes him a long while to calm down, but even before the tremors have begun to fade from his limbs he's fumbling at the knots binding you, his mouth pressed loose and open into your neck as he tugs at the ropes.

"You don't have to - you can wait awhile if you'd like," you protest, because you know he loves to relax and go boneless and enjoy the afterglow. He shakes his head minutely.

"No, no, I wanted to, want to - "

His voice is low with urgency. You let him untie you, tilt your head back so he can kiss your neck as he rubs at the red marks on your wrists and thighs, allow him to wrap himself around you and cling like you're going to disappear. His lips are moving against your skin, but you can't make out what he's saying.

"If you want to nap we don't have to stay on the couch," you tell him. You reach up to brush a clump of hair from his eyes. "Your bed is comfier. Don't worry about me - just sleep. That was for you."

"You're lovely." He says, suddenly. "You're just...you know I love you, right? Love you and pity you till the cows come home."

You have no idea what that turn of phrase means, but the intensity in his eyes makes you warm down to your toes. "I know." You kiss his nose. "I love you too."

"I do," he says again. "I don't, I don't say it enough." He twists and burrows down against you, mushing his face into your armpit. "Not nearly enough."

"You don't have to. I can tell anyway." You can. You know it in the way he hands you coffee in the morning, the way he'll pet your back as you're falling asleep at night, like the act of soothing you soothes him.

He hums into your skin and tightens his grip on your ribs. "'Kay. Just wanted to - _hahhh_ \- wanted to make sure." He yawns, wide and obnoxious. You muss his hair. "You don't have to stay here, I can sleep...by my...myself."

He's half unconscious already. "Of course I'll stay," you say, but he's already asleep. "I'll always stay."

And you will.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did warn you


End file.
